Dragonslayer
by Izuci
Summary: War rips and tears at the land, bandits steal and murder as they see fit, and Dragons burn and destroy everything without warning. Skyrim is the best place to get lost in, but it can be the worst place to be found...


**Hello, Izzy here. Just tossing around ideas for a long Mass Effect fanfic and I came across this old little write up of Skyrim I did back when it came out. I thought it was an alright little piece and I wouldn't mind getting people's opinions on it, so alittle something to chew on while I think of cool stuff to do.**

**Hope you enjoy it, and reviews are nice, just saying.**

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><p>For a land so north of the equator, Skyrim's afternoons could easily disguise the snowy continent. The yellow sun above beat down onto Petra's face as she walked along the road towards Eastmarch, she was thankful that the golden elven armor she wore reflected most of the unforgiving sun light away from her; she much preferred the cold of Skyrim to the hot.<p>

She could see two tall ruined towers connected by a narrow bridge off in the distance and the reflection of dark metal from the top of the tower told of the bandits that occupied the cross-river towers. Petra sighed as she nervously rubbed her thumb across the tips of her fingers, the friction between the sheets of leather causing unnatural heat as she prepared herself for the inevitable violence.

"Hey, there's a toll to pass the Valtheim Towers, elf," a Nordic woman in iron armor said dangerously as she drew her steel axe. "500 septims, now."

Sweat rolled down the back of Petra's neck as she gave a glance towards the bridge with archers readying to take out their next victim, with a small twitch of the wrist she placed Fire Runes under the bridge, just in case things got too out of hand.

"Why don't you just let me pass, plenty of people use this road to get to Eastmarch from Whiterun," Petra tried to reason, "What's the difference if you just let one-"

"Shut it, elf." The woman demanded loudly, prompting the archers to take aim. "If you don't have the coin, then we'll just take that pretty armor of yours!"

The bandit charged at Petra, but regret filled her wide eyes as fire exploded out from Petra's hand, slamming into her face and sending her flinging back into the stone tower. Her head lolled to the side and blood flowed freely from her mouth, Petra sighed unhapply at the very dead woman then looked up just to see the archers lose their arrows, but she was just as ready for that as well.

The magical barrier she casted before her disintegrated the steel arrows just as they would've hit the weak points of her armor, the archer's readied their next volley just as Petra rushed into the tower for cover only to be greeted by a massive axe bearly missing her ducking head.

"Die, elf bitch!" The gruff voice of an orc roared as he brought his axe down towards her head, Petra drawing her elven war axe as she spun out of the way, the huge axe cutting deeply into the stone floor with a resounding clank. Before the orc could recover from the mighty swing, Petra swung her own axe down onto his wrists, dividing his hands from his arms and making the huge orc scream out in agony. An arrow glanced off of Petra's armored shoulder, bringing her attention to the archer that now stood at the top of the stairs of the tower to the bridge.

Throwing her axe at the man, a stream if brilliant lightning propelled it forward and through the archer's chest; nearly cleaving the man's body in half down the middle. The stones behind the man screeched as the war axe embedded itself into it, and the man fell to the floor with a sickening splat. Petra walked up the stairs, grabbing her war axe, the stones melting and loosening the blade for her to take.

"I knew one day we'd bite of a little too much for us to chew," the Bandit's Leader said from across the bridge as Petra's golden armor shined in the sun light on the other side. "You're good, but not anything different from the other warmages we've had to deal with."

The Bandit Chief spoke with confidance as his two remaining archers let loose their arrows, he himself charging across the bridge as the Elven Warmage obliterated the arrows with ease, but he was on her much fast than she expected and staggered back as she blocked his greatsword, and not off balance he shouldered her into the wall of the tower. Petra gasped as she was slammed against the wall, her eyes wide as the point of the blade came to impale her to the same wall.

"**Fus-Ro-Dah!**" Her Voice broke out into the world like a daedra out of Oblivion, the air before her contorting and warping as the power of her Dragon Speak moved forth against her would-be killer. His blade stopped immediately at the first word, he struggled to continue to push forward at the second, and was then flung back across the bridge at the final word.

Petra sighed in relief as the fast and powerful man struggled to get up, she would not get caught off guard like that again while he still lived. The man laughed as he rose, "You're good, I've never had to deal with a user of the Voice."

"You'll never have to deal with anyone ever again, bandit." Petra was not unprepared as an arrow zoomed towards, but now caught the arrow in a field of ice, the arrow becoming a spike of ice and then thinning out into a long spear. "You aren't the only ones with arrows," She said as her threw the spear into the last archer on the bridge, ignoring the one on the ridge near the second Valtheim Tower. "Mine are just faster."

The Ice Spear stabbed through the sound barrier and ran the archer through his breast plate, flesh, muscle, bone, organs and through the other side all within a fraction of a second. The blow was so fast and sharp that he didn't even take any kinetic force, just stood there with a hole in his chest where his heart should have been, and then collapsed onto the bridge falling off the side into the rapidly moving water below.

The Bandit Chief was unfazed by his archer's instant death and charged; probably knowing that a power such as the Voice needed time before it could be used again. Petra wasn't fazed either and charged forward, she ducked as he attempted to cut her in half along the waist, and she brought up her axe to cut into his unguarded chin. He was quick, moving his head to the side using his swords momentum to swing himself around, his sword pointing to the Elf's stomach. Petra danced around the greatsword, letting it pass a centimeter from her armor, the Nord Bandit was smart enough to stop himself from letting his momentum throw him off balance, but Petra's free hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward.

As momentum helped him, it would now slay him. He probably would have been able to have overpowered her if he wasn't struggling against his own weight already, but he could do little to stop his initial fall. His armored boot slapped as he caught himself, but the Elven war axe was already at his shoulder as she guided it up his extended arm. Knowing his end was here, he closed his eyes and thought of home in Whiterun and his forsaken family, and then the axe sliced through his neck.

The Chief's head spun off the side of the bridge and his body fell limp at Petra's side, and she stood victorious looking over at the last bandit over on the ridge. The archer starred at the sky behind her in fear, turning and running as he dropped his bow.

She didn't need the characteristic roar to tell her to what he saw, she didn't need the feeling of blazing heat at her back to tell her to jump, and she didn't need to hear the loud snap of powerful jaws just above her head to snap her fingers and trigger her Fire Runes. Petra spun herself around to see the black dragon perched on the bridge she was just on engulfed in magical flames, huge bubble-like explosions forcing shrieks of pain from the intelligent beast. Stones of the bridge fell out of the ball of smoke followed soon by a scorched but still very much alive dragon, fire licking off of it's black scales and it's reptilian eyes looking hatefully down at it's pray; it's gapping maw opening as the two fell.

"**Yyyyol!**"

"**Yyyyol!**"

The two roared at each other, fire erupting and slapping together in midair between the two, the power of two Voices mashing together in a beautiful scene of words that could only be made by Dragon Speak.

The water was a surprise, she had forgot she was falling; too consumed in the mind of the dragon she spoke with. He was beautiful as he was horrible, the hunger for blood supported by a mind of confidence rivaled by no man confined to the ground, wisdom supported by the knowledge of years centuries past, and the feelings and emotions more intense than anything she had ever experienced. Hate. Joy. Pain. Vengeance.

She gasped for air as her head popped back over the water, now soaked and heavy thanks to the turbulent waters. The dragon, Zooryolslen, roared as his head thrashed out of the deep water, his burnt wings trying to push against the unyielding river.

"**Zooryolslen!**" Petra's Voice erupted, making the rushing water quake, and the thrashing ceased. The black dragon's head swung to face her, and the challenge was accepted.

"**Dovahkiin!**" Zooryolslen seemed to flow through the water towards his challenger, his wings folded to his sides.

"**Tiid,**" Time slowed by hours, seconds turning to minutes, and Petra smirked at the slowed dragon before her. Thrusting her hand into the water, the liquid solidified as she fired two icy spear torpedoes towards her foe, and the spears bit into flesh as time resumed. Blood spurted into the water, ice cutting through a hip joint and then knee, but the effect wasn't what she hoped for.

"**Fus-Ro-Dah!**" Zooryolslen roared, and the fist of a god punched Petra's whole body off the edge of a massive waterfall. She screamed in the natural fear of the fall, seeing the dragon go off the edge as well and attempt to catch the wind, but only roughly gliding down to the water below. They hit the calmer waters at the same time, and she could still hear the dragon's voice in her ears speaking to her even under water. She spoke back and his joy at hearing her still alive was evident at they both emerged from the water.

Petra rose out of the water, making a slab of ice for her to stand on and Zooryolslen watched her as they began their duel again.

"**Yyyyol-Toor!**"

"**Ffffo-Krah!**"

Petra braced herself on the ice slab as the wave of freezing breath bellowed towards Zooryolslen, and the wave of searing hot breath blasted against it; the water exploded into the air. Water turned to steam, steam to ice in an instant, and then back to water. The towering, unnatural, coiling spire of dripping ice and steam between the two was yet another creation made by the War of Words only experienced by those of the Dovah.

Zooryolslen crashed through the spire and Petra leapt up to avoid the jaws that wanted to taste her flesh and blood so fervently. She landed right where she wanted, Zooryolslen snarling and thrashing as she hammered her axe into the scales of his head, and the crackling metal anchoring her to his head as he thrashed and spun in the water. Petra's muscles ached as the dragon with one mighty push, flung them both out of the water and onto the bank of the calm river.

The rocking impact threw Petra from Zooryolslen's head and into the muddy shore, the world was muffled, but she could hear the exhausted groan of Zooryolslen's voice clearly in her ears. She groaned herself as she pushed herself up out of the thick mud, looking up to see the dragon doing the same and their eyes locked.

The skies were filled with clouds now. The world once filled with bright color was now grimly gray as she rose to her feet, and the dragon looked at the tall, beautiful Elf warrioress before him appraisingly.

"**Yyyyol!**"

"**Yyyyol!**"

When Dragons fought, it was like poetry; two beings of ineffable power and knowledge spoke of their power, their weakness. Their joys, their horrors. Their love, their hate. It was a heated debate that no mortal could match, emotions neither would feel ever again unless they once again spoke with another with the power of their Voice. Battle amongst Dovah was more personal than any fight any mortal could ever fight, more intimate than any sex shared by mortals. By the climax of the death dual between two of the Dovah, the two would become more than blood brothers, more than hate enemies, more than lovers, more than rivals. They became one and the same, they became a God.

Smoke swirled around the two as the fire pushed back and forth between the two; blue flames lashing out at each other at the center. Mud dried and became glass, water retreated and turned to steam, trees burst into flames and then shrunk into black husks. Zooryolslen's weakened body began to collapse as he push his voice as hard as he could gaining a little ground on Petra, but it soon gave out and his fire was overwhelmed by hers.

Zooryolslen cried out in the ecstasy of his defeat, his softer scaled flesh boiling as Petra's Voice flowed over his body, the fire snaking into his throat and roasting his lungs and insides, and finally the dragon crumbled to the glassy ground.

Petra looked into the eyes of her fallen enemy breathlessly, his eyes watched her struggle to stand and she could see his love for her as his head rolled to rest limply on the glass; wheezing to try and breath with fried lungs. She looked away from the dragon's eyes as sorrow racked her body, and stumbled away from the fading away dragon. Gasping for breath, she fell to her knees on the unharmed, still muddy bank, holding herself as she sobbed, and Zooryolslen's wheezing Voice left her ears finally.

Petra heard the sound of a fire crackling, wind rushing, and the warmth of Zooryolslen's presence filled her shivering body. She took in breath after breath, gasping for more, her head rearing back before she shouted her sadness into the now raining sky.

**SKYRIM**

**DRAGONSLAYER**


End file.
